Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No. 432

COLONIAL PENNY-POSTAGE

'I shall write to every one in turn, but it is expensive sending to many at once,' says one of the poor needlewomen, whom Mr Sydney Herbert's Female Emigration Fund has enabled to obtain a comfortable home at Adelaide. Well might she complain of the expense. When at home, she could send a letter to the most distant corner of the United Kingdom for a penny. In Australia, she finds that the cost of sending a letter to her mother in London is a shilling. It is strange that the colonists do not make an outcry about so extravagant a charge. Of all the anomalies in English legislation, our colonial postage-system is certainly one of the most glaring; and yet, in the midst of so much effort for emigration and colonisation, hardly any one seems to be aware of it. The people of England, Ireland, and Scotland have, for the last twelve years, enjoyed the incalculable benefits of Penny-Postage, but they have never thought of extending its blessings to their fellow-countrymen, scattered abroad among our various colonies over the whole surface of the globe.

Under the old dear system, the cost of sending a letter home from any of the colonies was not felt so much as it is now. The emigrant, before he left home, had always been accustomed to pay from 9d. to 1s. 2d. for letters from distant parts of the United Kingdom, and he could not complain at finding the postage from Canada or Australia to the mother-country only a little dearer. But the case has been entirely changed since Rowland Hill's plan came into operation. What seemed a moderate rate before that great improvement took place, is now an exorbitant charge, which no working-man will pay very frequently. In this, as in most other affairs, it is not the actual but the comparative cost of the article which makes it seem dear. To a person who has recently left his native land, and who is probably still suffering from homesickness, a letter from any beloved friend or relative is worth far more than many shillings; indeed, the value cannot be estimated in sterling coin. But, unfortunately, the first mode in which the emigrant discovers that the social luxury of correspondence has advanced 1100 per cent. in price, is not in the tempting shape of a letter from home. He must first write to his friends before he can expect them to write to him, and that is a task which nine persons out of ten, on the most charitable calculation, are very strongly tempted to procrastinate, from day to day, even without any pecuniary obstacle. But how much stronger the temptation to put off the writing of 'that letter' from day to day for weeks, and at last for months, when the poor emigrant, still struggling with difficulties, finds that, instead of only a penny for each letter, he must now pay a shilling? What wonder though many thousands, who have left friends and relatives behind them, all anxiously on the outlook for some tidings of their welfare, should defer the task of writing home for a month or two, finding it so dear; and, having got over the first few months, gradually become careless, and never write home at all? There are few people who have not known many instances of this kind; and we have little doubt that it is owing mainly to this cause that they have given up all correspondence with the old country.

It is strange that Mr Sydney Herbert, Mrs Chisholm, and the rest of those honourable men and women who have taken so much pains to promote emigration, should not have seen the importance of obtaining colonial postage reform. Mr Gibbon Wakefield, in his England and America, published nearly twenty years ago, lays much stress upon the impulse which healthy emigration to our colonies would derive from any measure which should enable the poorer class of emigrants to write home more frequently. As a proof of this, he remarks, that the great emigration from England which had recently taken place—an increase of about 200 per cent. over former years—had been mainly caused by the publication of letters from poor emigrants to their friends at home. With a view to encourage such correspondence, he suggests that, for some years after their arrival in a colony, poor emigrants should be allowed the privilege of sending their letters free of postage. Thanks to Rowland Hill, we have learned that letters can be carried at so very small a cost, that even the poor can afford to pay the sum charged by the post-office authorities in this country; and it requires little more than a stroke of the colonial secretary's pen to extend the same invaluable privilege to the thousands of emigrants who leave this country every month for some one or other of our numerous colonies. What Mr Gibbon Wakefield says of the free-postage plan of that time, would apply with nearly equal force to the proposed Colonial Penny-Postage:—'In this way, not only would the necessary evil of going to a colony be diminished—that is, the emigrants would depart with the pleasant assurance of being able to communicate with their friends at home—but the poorer classes in the mother-country would always hear the truth as to the prospects of emigrants; and not only the truth, but truth in which they would not suspect any falsehood.' He goes on to say, that the statements published about that time, by an emigration-board sitting in Downing Street, shewing what high wages were obtainable in the colonies, 'though perfectly true, have not been received with implicit faith by the harassed, and therefore suspicious class to whom they were addressed; nor would any statements made by the government ever obtain so much credit as letters from the emigrants themselves.' All who have ever paid any attention to the subject of emigration, and who have mixed familiarly among the poorer classes, will agree with Mr Wakefield. All the government returns that ever were made, backed by ever so many extracts from colonial newspapers, about the high rate of wages, and the cheapness of provisions, will not make half the impression upon a poor man which a single letter from an emigrant brother, a son, or a trustworthy friend, will produce.

We should be glad to see the country rouse itself on this important question, regarding which numerous meetings have already been held.

SURVEYING VOYAGE OF THE RATTLESNAKE

Since war went out of fashion, many officers of the British navy have been employed in exploring seas, and surveying coasts, in different parts of the world, for the laudable purpose of facilitating navigation; and there would be little harm in supposing, that there might be as much glory in verifying the position and extent of a shoal or sunken rock, as in capturing an enemy's frigate. At all events, these surveying voyages furnish useful occupation, not unattended with danger; and they involve the necessity for a good deal of hard work, of a dry and technical character, three years being the time usually allotted to a cruise. Australia, owing to the dangerous character of its northern and eastern shores, has been the scene of numerous surveys, among the latest of which was that by Captain Blackwood in the Fly. One important result of this survey was the finding of a passage through the great Barrier Reef for vessels navigating Torres Strait; but as more than one passage was considered essential to the safety of a route so much frequented, the Rattlesnake was commissioned, in September 1846, for a further survey, to be carried on in what is called the Coral Sea, having New Guinea, the Louisiade Archipelago, and the continent of Australia, as its boundaries.3

After some months spent in preliminary examination of different parts of the Australian shores and seas, the Rattlesnake sailed from Sydney, at the end of April 1848, for the main object of her cruise. She had the Bramble, a small schooner, as tender, and was accompanied by the Tam o' Shanter, a vessel chartered for the conveyance of Mr Kennedy's expedition, which was to land at Rockingham Bay, 1200 miles to the northward, 'and explore the country to the eastward of the dividing range, running along the north-east coast of Australia, at a variable distance from the shore, and terminating at Cape York.' Having assisted in landing this party, and arranged to meet them at the head of Princess Charlotte's Bay, on their toilsome, and, as it proved, disastrous overland journey, the ships pursued their route, and soon commenced a series of triangulations, which were continued without a break for more than 600 miles. The Bramble waited ten days at the appointed rendezvous without seeing anything of the overland expedition, which, as it afterwards appeared, did not reach the same latitude until two months later, and then at a considerable distance from the coast.

In October, the vessels were at Cape York, waiting for Mr Kennedy, and receiving supplies from a storeship despatched from Sydney, and letters from the 'post-office' on Booby Island. In his capacity as naturalist and ethnologist, Mr Macgillivray made frequent excursions, collecting plants and animals, and words for a vocabulary. The natives are described as inordinately fond of smoking whenever they can get choka, as they call tobacco. 'The pipe—which is a piece of bamboo as thick as the arm, and two or three feet long—is first filled with tobacco-smoke, and then handed round the company, seated on the ground in a ring; each takes a long inhalation, and passes the pipe to his neighbour, slowly allowing the smoke to exhale. On several occasions at Cape York,' continues the author, 'I have seen a native so affected by a single inhalation, as to be rendered nearly senseless, with the perspiration bursting out at every pore, and require a draught of water to restore him; and although myself a smoker, yet, on the only occasion when I tried this mode of using tobacco, the sensations of nausea and faintness were produced.' There is something new in the idea of taking whiffs of ready-made smoke, which might perhaps be turned to account by enterprising purveyors of social enjoyments on this side of the world.

After the abortive attempt to establish the colony of 'North Australia' at Port Curtis, at a cost of L.15,000, and the abandonment of Port Essington, it is not uninteresting to learn that Cape York presents many natural capabilities for a settlement. There is a good harbour, safe anchorage, abundance of fresh water all the year round, and a moderate extent of cultivable land, all of which will help to constitute it a desirable coaling station for the contemplated line of steamers from Sydney to Singapore and India. The Port-Essington experiment was so complete a failure, that after trying for eleven years, the colonists were 'not even able to keep themselves in fresh vegetables.' Fortunately, but little encouragement was ever offered to permanent settlers, or the disappointments caused by an unproductive soil and unhealthy climate would have been greatly multiplied. A singular example of the lex talionis occurred among the natives at this place. One of them having been severely wounded in punishment for an offence, the penalty was considered too severe, and 'it was finally determined that, upon Munjerrijo's recovery, the two natives who had wounded him should offer their heads to him to be struck with a club—the usual way, it would appear, of settling such matters.'

Here we find, too, another of those instances of intelligence in a native, the more extraordinary when contrasted with the low mental condition of the aborigines in general. Sir Thomas Mitchell, and other Australian travellers, have spoken of their acutely-endowed guides in terms almost of affection; and Mr Macgillivray relates that, during his stay at Port Essington, a native named Neinmal became greatly attached to him. 'One day,' he continues, 'while detained by rainy weather at my camp, I was busy in skinning a fish; Neinmal watched me attentively for some time, and then withdrew, but returned in half an hour afterwards with the skin of another fish in his hand, prepared by himself, and so well done, too, that it was added to the collection. He went with us to Singapore, Java, and Sydney, and, from his great good-humour, became a favourite with all on board—picking up the English language with facility, and readily conforming himself to our customs and the discipline of the ship. He was very cleanly in his personal habits, and paid much attention to his dress, which was always kept neat and tidy. I was often much amused and surprised by the oddity and justness of his remarks upon the many strange sights which a voyage of this kind brought before him.' The Nemesis steamer underweigh puzzled him at first; he then thought it was 'all same big cart, only got him shingles (wooden roofing-tiles, so called) on wheels!' Neinmal spoke of his countrymen as 'big fools,' and held white men in such estimation, that he volunteered for a voyage to England; but having been prevented, returned to Port Essington, where he learned to read and write. His superiority rendered him obnoxious to the older members of his family; and one day, while on a visit to his tribe, 'he was roused from sleep to find himself surrounded by a host of savages thirsting for his blood. They told him to rise, but he merely raised himself upon his elbow, and said: "If you want to kill me, do so where I am; I won't get up. Give me a spear and club, and I'll fight you all one by one!" He had scarcely spoken, when he was speared from behind; spear after spear followed, and as he lay writhing on the ground, his savage murderers literally dashed him to pieces with their clubs.'

In June 1849, the Rattlesnake and Bramble were at work in the Louisiade Archipelago, finding out the safest channels and anchorages among its numerous rocks, shoals, and reefs. The natives of some of the islands had never seen Europeans before, yet seemed little inclined to acknowledge the superiority of their visitors. They manifested but little alarm on witnessing the effects of firearms; and on one occasion attacked two of the ship's boats with a courage and self-reliance extraordinary under the circumstances. In general characteristics, they resemble the Torres Strait islanders: some of them friz their hair up into a mop two feet in diameter, wear a comb nearly a yard long, and bunches of dogs' teeth hanging behind, by way of ornament, and take no little pride in adorning their persons with paint and tattoo-marks, and flowers and plants of strong odour. Bracelets of various kinds are a favourite decoration, and among these the most curious 'is that made of a human lower jaw, with one or more collar-bones closing the upper side, crossing from one angle to the other. Whether these are the jaws of former friends or enemies,' says Mr Macgillivray, 'we had no means of ascertaining; no great value appeared to be attached to them; and it was observed, as a curious circumstance, that none of these jaws had the teeth discoloured by the practice of betel-chewing.'

A supply of yams being wanted, the cutter was sent one day at the beginning of July to open a trade, if possible, with the natives of Brierly Island, on which occasion 'Mr Brady took charge of the bartering, and drawing a number of lines upon the sandy beach, explained that when each was covered with a yam, he would give an axe in return. At first, some little difficulty occurred, as the yams were brought down very slowly—two or three at a time; but at length the first batch was completed, and the axe handed over. The man who got it had been trembling with anxiety for some time back, holding Mr Brady by the arm, and watching the promised axe with eager eye. When he obtained possession of it, he became quite wild with joy, laughing and screaming, and flourishing the axe over his head. After this commencement, the bartering went on briskly, amidst a great deal of uproar—the men passing between the village and the beach at full speed, with basketfuls of yams, and too intent on getting the kiram kelumai (iron axes) to think of anything else.' In this way, 368 pounds of yams were collected, at a cost of about a half-penny per pound.

Among contrivances for procuring food, the natives of some of the islands train the sucking-fish (Echeneis remora) for the chase in the water, as dogs are trained to hunt on land. A line is made fast to the creature's tail; it is then started in pursuit of prey, and as soon as it has attached itself to a turtle, or any other 'game,' the line is hauled in, and the prize secured. While the Rattlesnake lay at anchor, a number of sucking-fishes took up their quarters under her bottom, and whenever the sailors dropped a bait overboard, it was always seized by one of the remoræ, greatly to the annoyance of the anglers on deck. 'Being quite a nuisance,' writes Mr Macgillivray, 'and useless as food, Jack often treated them as he would a shark, by "spritsail-yarding," or some still less refined mode of torture. One day, some of us, while walking the poop, had our attention directed to a sucking-fish, about two and a half feet in length, which had been made fast by the tail to a billet of wood, by a fathom or so of spun-yarn, and turned adrift. An immense striped shark, apparently about fourteen feet in length, which had been cruising about the ship all the morning, sailed slowly up, and turning slightly on one side, attempted to seize the seemingly helpless fish; but the sucker, with great dexterity, made himself fast in a moment to the shark's back. Off darted the monster at full speed—the sucker holding on as fast as a limpet to a rock, and the billet towing astern. He then rolled over and over, tumbling about, when, wearied with his efforts, he lay quiet for a little. Seeing the float, the shark got it into his mouth, and disengaging the sucker by a tug on the line, made a bolt at the fish; but his puny antagonist was again too quick, and fixing himself close behind the dorsal fin, defied the efforts of the shark to disengage him, although he rolled over and over, lashing the water with his tail until it foamed all round.' After such a spirited combat, it is somewhat tantalising to read, that the final result could not clearly be made out; it is scarcely possible, however, not to wish success to the remora.

On the 18th August, a party landed on the coast of New Guinea, and paid a friendly visit to some of the Papuans who had been off to the ship, and found them less fierce and distrustful than those of the islands. Some of them thought the muskets were water-vessels, and others were afraid of a knife: it was too sharp. They are excellent mimics; and one of them imitated the English drummer so cleverly on an old tin-can, as to excite roars of laughter among all who witnessed the performance. Some of their dances are extraordinary, more resembling a fencing-match than movements of the light fantastic toe; and the following description of a dance after nightfall is curious:—'On seeing a number of lights along the beach, we at first thought they proceeded from a fishing-party, but on looking through a night-glass, the group was seen to consist of above a dozen people, each carrying a blazing torch, and going through the movements of a dance. At one time, they extended rapidly into line; at another, closed, dividing into two parties, advancing and retreating, crossing and recrossing, and mixing up with each other. This continued for half an hour; and having apparently been got up for our amusement, a rocket was sent up for theirs, and a blue-light burned; but the dancing had ceased, and the lights disappeared.'

On the 1st October, the Rattlesnake was again at Cape York. About the middle of the month, an incident occurred which relieved the dulness of a period of inactivity—the discovery and rescue of a white woman, who had been for some time a prisoner among the natives. We shall abridge Mr Macgillivray's narrative of her story. Her name is Barbara Thomson; she was born at Aberdeen, and emigrated to New South Wales with her parents. About four and a half years prior to the event, she had accompanied her husband in a small cutter, to try to save some part of the cargo of a whaler that had been wrecked on the Bampton shoal. The pilot missed his route, two of the crew were drowned by accident, another was left on a desert island, and at last the little vessel, caught by a gale in Torres Strait, struck upon a reef on Prince of Wales Island. The only two men left on board were drowned in attempting to swim to shore; but the woman was saved by a party of natives, one of whom, Boroto by name, forced her to live with him as his wife, in which position she for a time was exposed to much cruelty, owing to the jealousy of the women of the tribe. She eventually was saved from persecution by a singular belief prevalent among the natives—that white people are the ghosts of departed aborigines—one of the principal among the blacks having persuaded himself that he had found in her his long-lost daughter, after whom Barbara was named Giom. The head-quarters of the tribe were on an island, and the captive frequently saw vessels pass on their way to Torres Strait, but without any opportunity of making her case known. She had heard of the first arrival of the Rattlesnake and tender at Cape York; and on the last visit, had induced the blacks to escort her to within a short distance of the anchorage, they believing that she only wished to shake hands with her countrymen, and would soon return, laden with knives, axes, and tobacco. Although lame, she hurried on, fearing that her conductors might change their mind, and made towards some of the ship's company, who were on shore shooting. Except a fringe of leaves, she was quite naked, and her appearance was so dirty and miserable, that they took her for a gin, or native woman, and paid no attention to her, when she called out: 'I am a white woman; why do you leave me?' She was immediately taken on board the ship, and but just in time to escape from a small party of the tribe, who had followed to detain her.

Mr Macgillivray continues: 'Upon being asked by Captain Stanley, whether she really preferred remaining with us to accompanying the natives back to their island, as she would be allowed her free choice in the matter, she was so much agitated as to find difficulty in expressing her thankfulness, making use of scraps of English alternately with the Kowrarega language, and then, suddenly awakening to the recollection that she was not understood, the poor creature blushed all over, and with downcast eyes beat her forehead with her hand, as if to assist in collecting her scattered thoughts. At length, after a pause, she found words to say: "Sir, I am a Christian, and would rather go back to my own friends." At the same tune, it was remarked by every one that she had not lost the feelings of womanly modesty; even after having lived so long among naked blacks, she seemed acutely to feel the singularity of her position, dressed only in a couple of shirts, in the midst of a crowd of her own countrymen.'

In accordance with her wish, Mrs Thomson was kept on board, and had a cabin given up to her own use; good living and medical attendance soon cured the soreness of her tanned and blistered skin, and the ophthalmia, which had deprived her of the sight of one eye. The black Boroto grew desperate when he found that she would not return to him, and threatened to cut off her head to satisfy his vengeance—a catastrophe which the rescued woman avoided by not going on shore; and she was eventually handed over, in good condition, to her parents on the return of the vessel to Sydney, at the beginning of 1850.

Shortly afterwards, to the great sorrow of all on board, Captain Stanley died, at the early age of thirty-eight. He had brought his scientific labours to a successful close, and might have looked forward to a brief period of honourable repose; but the fatigue and anxiety of a laborious survey in a hot climate, and the news of the decease of his father, the late Bishop of Norwich, depressed him beyond the power of recovery. This was not the only melancholy incident connected with the Rattlesnake's voyage. Mr Kennedy's expedition had proved a most disastrous failure. The party, as we have seen, had landed in Rockingham Bay, and commenced their journey northwards, with a well-appointed caravan of carts, horses, and men, all in high spirits. But more than a month elapsed before they could extricate themselves from the swamps and scrub which cover that part of the country; and at the beginning of November, five months later, they had not advanced more than 400 miles in a direct line: nineteen of the horses were dead, and the stock of provisions nearly exhausted. Mr Kennedy then determined on pushing forwards, with a light party, for Cape York, 150 miles distant, whence relief was to be sent to the eight individuals who were left behind, nearly worn out with fatigue and exhaustion. This party consisted of the leader; Jackey Jackey, a faithful and intelligent native; and three of the strongest of the men. One of the latter accidentally shot himself, and the other two became so weak, that they also were left at an encampment, with as large a supply of provisions as could be spared. After incredible hardships, Mr Kennedy and his companion reached Escape River, twenty miles from Cape York, where they were attacked by a party of natives, while entangled in a scrub, and the gallant leader of the expedition fell a victim to their ferocity. Three spears had entered his body, and Jackey Jackey, in simple but touching words, describes his last moments. 'Mr Kennedy,' he asked, after having carried the wounded man out of sight of the natives, 'are you going to leave me?' 'Yes, my boy, I am going to leave you,' was the reply of the dying man. 'I am very bad, Jackey. You take the books, Jackey, to the captain; but not the big ones: the governor will give anything for them.' 'I then tied up the papers. He then said: "Jackey, give me paper, and I will write." I gave him paper and pencil, and he tried to write; and he then fell back and died, and I caught him as he fell back, and held him, and I then turned round myself, and cried. I was crying a good while, until I got well; that was about an hour, and then I buried him, I dug up the ground with a tomahawk, and covered him over with logs, then grass, and my shirt and trousers. That night I left him, near dark.'